Concept of Grace
by Moirei
Summary: When Oliver Queen returns home, he is not alone. In the aftermath of their own tragedies, he and Mari must reconcile past sins with unanswered questions. They begin a fight to find their own ends within the untold stories of the city and face the consequences of these revelations. Eventual Oliver/OC. Collab with breathe1926.
1. Prologue: Beyond Sea and Sky

_**Concept of** **Grace  
**_Written By  
Moire &amp; breathe1926

_"You fixed your eyes on us,  
your flesh and blood,  
__a sculpture of water  
__and unsettled dust.  
__when there was bad blood in us,  
__we learn our lesson."_

* * *

**Prologue  
****Beyond Sea and Sky**

* * *

The dark forest that covered a great expanse of the island rushed by in a blur. Shades of leaves and streaks of rock were occasionally broken in glimpses of murky water that surrounded this place, enclosing and isolating it as effectively as strong walls.

Bark dug into his hands as he swung from branches. Rock scrapped across his feet as he scaled the crag. The rough textures that once ripped through flesh was met with the hard callouses formed over years. After all, survival is only possible with skin stronger then stone.

At the height of the ridge, he paused at the sight of a small fishing vessel, the only moving form against the bleak backdrop of grey, endless sky and sea. One word filled his mind, the sum of a dream that had helped him persevere through a nightmare of years.

_Salvation._

He continued to watched the boat sail for a moment. Then, he ran. Ran faster than he had run for anything in his life.

Five years in hell and he finally saw a tangible sign of hope, a true chance of rescue.

His steps grew quick along the edge of the bluff before he jumped down and plunged back into the forest. Dodging past trees, tearing through briers, leaping over fallen logs, he traveled back to the formation where his weapons remained.

He stabbed his knife into the stone to free both hands and then opened the cloth covering a pile of various arrows and a wooden bow. The weight of the bow in his hand had become familiar and welcomed over time of practice and conflict. He searched through the arrows he'd crafted, looking for a specific one he'd made in preparation for this situation.

With movements rushed because of a closing window, he found the tar-covered arrow and quickly struck the head across the rock, lighting the flint attached.

With the arrow aflame, he rose to his feet, hands automatically moving to their proper grips on the bow and string. The heavy breath in his lungs and the rapid pound of his heart began to quiet while his body settled in stillness and focus. Like second nature, he set his sight and prepared to fire. The soft voice of a ghost spoke in the back of his mind, repeating a lesson long ago learned.

_Survive._

He saw his target in the distance–a pile of wood at the edge of the beach he'd spent hours arraigning.

He felt the variation of the harsh wind that swept through the branches.

He heard the bowstring tighten as his fingers clutched it and brought it near his cheek.

And then he let go.

The arrow pierced through the air. His eyes followed the arrow's blazing path as it moved along the wind and curved down into its target. The wood was set afire in a great explosion that burst in clouds of bright yellow and vivid red. The booming sound created echoed over the wind and ocean. Dark plumes of smoke rose, a beacon to catch the attention of the vessel and a sign to show there were inhabitants on the island.

The boat changed its course towards the beach where the fire burned bright even in daylight.

With the task completed, he lowered his bow and straightened his body, reading to go back to the life he lost and start the new purpose left to him. But, he would not be alone.

For the last time, he ran across the island.

Approaching the nearest camp they'd crafted, he searched through the gaps in the trees and the patches of green for her.

She was going to resist and fight him, tooth and nail and spear and knife and sword and poisoned dart. Long ago, she had resigned herself to this place, content to fulfill her penance in purgatory, but he refused to leave her behind.

In the corner of his eye, the dark verdant of the forest was broken by a streak of blonde. Quickly he turned and managed to avoid the oncoming spear aimed at his chest.

He had found her.

At the edge of the tree line surrounding the camp, she stood, her body tensed in a battle-ready posture, her hand gripping a hunting knife, her face set in a familiar glare. Before she could strike again, he anticipated the angle she would come from; after years of sparring he could predict her movements as fluently as she spoke her native tongue. Soon enough, she lurched towards him. With a side step and a duck, he spun to avoid the sharp blade, grabbed her wrist and twisted till the knife fell to the ground. He moved quickly and seized her in a neck hold before she could rearm herself.

Pressure placed strategically on her neck limited the flow of air and blood. The woman quickly realized the intent of his hold, after all she had taught it to him. Gasping and grunting cruses in a variety of languages, she struggled against his grip, kicking his legs and clawing at his arms. After a few carefully measured seconds, she fell unconscious and her body went slack in his arms.

He set her gently on the ground and quickly made his way around the camp. He collected the majority of their weapons together in a sturdy box of worn wood. With the strength this island had forced him to build, he easily carried her and the case to the beach, where his signal fire burned and the boat approached.

The fishermen stepped on the land, walking on the rocky shore and observing the forest with caution and fear this island birth with its foreboding atmosphere and dark depths. The mask pierced by an arrow and displayed on a stake served as omen and headstone (because of her instance).

He met them at the edge of the sand, watching the mixed emotions at his appearance and the unconscious woman slung over his shoulder. Without a mirror, he knew what he looked like now after so long away from civilization – long and tangled golden hair and beard, dirt and scar streaked skin, lean and muscled body.

Using yet another language learned, he explained who he was and an edited version of what had happened to him. The fishermen quickly granted him and his companion passage from the island to Hong Kong that he thankfully took.

Once on the vessel, he laid her down on the deck and then sat nearby. Wrapped in a blanket and cradling a cup of tea, he watched her and waited. Even in sleep her expression was taught and worn.

He knew she would not thank him for bringing her off the island; more likely, she would try to stab him for his sentiment. He knew she had grown cold and distant, and had every right to do so. She'd been in that hell even longer than him. Her past had her trapped and the island had become her provision.

But all the same, he would not leave her behind.

Beneath her the ground swayed and rocked in a gentle motion that could have been soothing if it was not completely wrong. Strong and steady. earth did not move nor change. A comfort forged from resigning into an inescapable situation was disrupted with each movement.

Consciousness fluttered and slowly returned, bringing her out of the darkness and back into the world. She blinked as a light –bright, pure, and not filtered through leaves– assaulted her eyes as she was met with unfamiliar settings.

Above her and all around her was blue. A cerulean sky that trapped her with its wide, open endlessness and expanded possibilities. An aquamarine sea that tormented her with its constant churning and changing, its inconsistent newness. The shades spread out across everything, interrupted only by a small speck.

The black of her prison drifted behind them as the small boat rocked farther into the blue sea. One word filled her mind, piercing through the color that consumed it.

_Escape_.

She paused for a moment, the weight of the definition settling. Then, she panicked. Panicked since everything she'd known was swept away in waves.

Eight years in purgatory and she was leaving.

Her mind spun in circles and denied the reality, because the island had become her life, her penance she grew content to serve. Escape seemed to be some cruel trick, some fantasy too good to be true.

She wasn't ready to go back to the life she lost, the life that had been taken from her. They had left her for dead after all.

Her breathing slowed as she kept observing the blues. The varying values of the sky and sea were so different and yet they began blending into one. Her vision slipped at the overwhelming merging of the wind and waves. The darkness threatened to overtake her in her panicked state, when suddenly she hardened and crushed the vulnerability. Her mind sharpened and focused.

Then, she looked to the person next to her, briefly thinking back to the first time they'd met. He'd come so far from the dumb, pretty boy who blundered into her traps to the strong, fire-forged man who fought at her side.

In his eyes she found a new hue of that intense color. The shades of nature around her were too bright, too dark, too much. But this new value was calming in its familiarity. This blue held a light that was mirrored in her own. Her mind focused on the brightness of his eyes and the steadiness of his expression.

When met with his stare of concern, she adopted the harsh facade he would expect from her. He watched with sympathy as she studied him, her green eyes betraying her fear.

She watched with caution as he studied her, his blue eyes displaying his peace.

Broken, battered and bruised, they both understood this new situation. The green of the island and the blue of the sky and sea would no longer hold them prisoner, they were headed back into the world.


	2. Chapter 1: Homecoming

**Chapter One  
****Homecoming**

* * *

After days at sea, the small fishing vessel pulled into the harbor.

She watched with intent as the city came into clear view, a bustling metropolis so similar to the way she had left it all those years ago, with its shinning skyscrapers glaring onto the dark streets beneath. Emotions rolled inside of her with the strength of a storm, a churning, unsettling combination of fear and rage, of apprehension and relief. Beneath the carefully constructed facade of her features, she wrestled against the dynamic force of her eternal inner battle.

She steadied her breathing against the sweeping wind of the ocean as new senses invaded. The musk of a polluted city filled her nostrils with the tang of oil and the exhaust of smoke. Salt from the spray of the sea covered her lips, the saline taste reminding her of tears. The sway of the boat disoriented her while the rush of the breeze refreshed her.

The scene before was overwhelming as she fought the compelling urge to go back in time to the place of days past when she existed as a completely different being. Another battlefield burned in her psyche as she thought of a time when she was younger, when she was gentler, when she was happier. Then she remembered the events that transpired and brought about the end of that long past era of innocence, ignorance, and naivety.

Now as she watched the approaching land that had once been a form of home, she realized she was a stranger. She was harder, colder, stronger–a true warrior forged in the fires of isolation. Her hope no longer sprung from fantasies woven by an obedient daughter, but from the promise of life brought by the first light of day. A place she once saw with eyes of an eager child, trying to serve her family, she now looked at with the eyes of a prisoner newly freed, trying to survive this life.

As memories and emotions attacked her mind, she tried to focus on the corporeal things in front of her. She tried to see the wide expanses of opportunities around her, finding the only obstacle of a new destiny was the person she had been years ago. Rising to her feet, the sentiments of the battle between past and present was all too real. They existed in the stir in her bones and in the pounding of her heart. Without so much as a look at her companion, she started running –running from yesterday and towards tomorrow.

"Damn it, Mari! Come back," came the all too familiar rough and aggravated voice from behind her, but in her quick movement, the deep sound faded with the gust of air.

Mari ran, tearing through the harbor and the streets of Hong Kong with a vengeance as she searched frantically for a payphone. Her eyes scanned the lanes that seemed to be enveloped in a mad haze of hurry she hadn't seen for eight years. In the hustle of colored advertisements and backdoor business on the busy urban scene, she spotted it: the blue box with a silver coil falling from a black phone that would provide her new beginning. She grinned at the sight and ran even faster towards the phone-booth.

With quick reflexes developed over the years of survival, she picked up the phone, inserted the money she'd stolen from a fisherman, and dialed a number she never thought she would use again. The phone rang with a patient urgency, seemingly mocking her with its annoyingly high pitched tone. She tapped her foot impatiently as the ringing continued for another moment, until a heavily accented voice answered in a dialect that was all too familiar with its smooth, prolonged syllables and stresses punctuated by a sharp twist of the tongue.

"Hello, Who is this," was the relaxed reply.

"It's me. I need a new identity," Mari said, trying not to let her voice betray the weakness of her internal conflict caused by simply hearing the familiar voice.

"It is you," said the voice, the surprise in it masked by a rumbling chuckle, when he quickly said, "Is that what you say to your uncle after three years?"

"Yes," she replied, unable to help the sharp and sudden laugh that broke through the block in her throat. There was a pause as she realized it was the first time she had laughed in years…and for a moment she was stunned by the sound, unfamiliar to remember to the burst of joy beneath of the cage of her ribs.

He replied,"You always were so charming." The retort quickly drew her out of any introspection as they fell into a pattern of banter long forgotten but dearly missed.

"I get it from you. Now about that identity," came her own sarcastic comment.

"Already done. Do you have any plans to return home," He asked, a slight drop in his tone on the word "home".

At the mention of returning, the warm happiness lit within her chest turned cold. In a chilling tone, she quickly stated."I do not have a home."

"Understood. Remember, anything you need is just a phone call away," her uncle said, unflinching at her change in mood. He hung up afterwards, knowing there was nothing left to say.

* * *

Five days following the escape from her personal purgatory, Mari watched the television report the story of the century with a blaring and bolded headline: _Missing Billionaire Found With Mystery Woman_. She scoffed at the news anchor and his ridiculous dramatization of the situation, reporting the story as if Oliver had been rescued from some kind of fantasy island instead of hell on earth. Though, her attention was soon dragged away from criticizing the anchor towards another nurse attempting to ask her questions.

The past three days had been an endless cycle of clinical testing, probing questions, and silent answers. The constant prodding from the doctors was frustrating, their curious stares and invasive questions trying to strip away her defenses. Although she was made of stronger materiel to withstand their scrutiny, especially when they took inventory of her scars. The sight of their barely concealed pity as they studied the wounds seared onto her skin had only added fire to her hidden volatility. So far, the only success they'd had at sparking a reaction from her controlled mask was when they'd separated her from the only familiar thing to her, – the man who had brought here. She wasn't even allowed to see him since the doctors believed it to be '_best_' for the two castaways to adjust to distance between them.

In her room, the nurse moved around her with caution, checking the IVs and monitors Mari was attached to for no particular reason. Mari noticed the way the woman watched her warily and placed herself as far from the hospital bed as possible. All the attendants had been acting this way, with the same caution one would use when dealing with a wild animal, since the first night in the hospital. When some unfortunate doctor had to tried to sedate her, Mari's instincts took over her movements. She disarmed him and then nearly stabbed him with his own syringe. Since then the entire hospital staff was terrified of her. The thought of still having some power even though she was trapped gave her some satisfaction.

In the many hours that followed, Mari tried and failed to sleep, unable to find comfort in the upright position of her hospital bed, in an unfamiliar city, with no sight of the familiar face that had been her companion for years. Quietly, she slipped out of her room and followed the steps she had taken every night since their arrival to Oliver's room. She moved with a quietness and finesse that only comes from years of being hunter and prey.

As she stepped towards the room from the shadows of the hallway, she froze at the sight before her. There was a regal woman standing next to a doctor, blocking the door to Oliver's room. She managed to briefly hear some of the hushed conversation between who she assumed to be Oliver's mother and the doctor.

"How is he," asked the woman.

"20 percent of his body is covered in scar tissue," the doctor replied, trying to remain detached and clinical despite the horrific nature of these details. "Second-degree burns on his back and arms. X-rays show at least 12 fractures that never properly healed."

"Has he said anything about what happened?"

"No, he's barely said anything. He only asks about the woman." He paused for a moment, the mask of the doctor falling as he sympathetically said, "Moira, I'd like you to prepare yourself. The Oliver you lost might not be the one they found."

Mari's eyes followed the pair as they looked to the window. The man standing there had his back facing them, although hidden by his white shirt, Mari knew of the scars and marks on his skin. Each one told a story of terror, a horrible nightmare kept secret to those whom haven't experienced its pain. As Oliver stared out the window, Mari could interpret his thoughts as well as she could his fighting style. The island was all he had known for the last five years of his life, and she had spent even longer there. In his mind, he was asking the same question she was: _Is this real?_

Moira called out her son's name, her voice shaky with overpowering emotions. Oliver turned at the sound of, his eyes lighting with a flash of disbelief. Mari slid back from the door as mother and son embraced, feeling as though she was an intruder unto a scene she wasn't meant to witness.

After all, there would be no heartfelt reunions for Mari. All too well, she knew her family was not one bound together in love. Her mother was long dead, gone in the midst of an accident she could barely remember. Her father had considered her a pawn, a tool to orchestrate the world according to his mind. To him, Mari had been disposable, that much he had made clear. Instead of the unity of flesh and blood, nothing existed between them other than politics and opportunity. What little love she had found, she was forced to leave behind or had discovered it to be a lie.

She moved with the shadows in the empty hall, retreating back to her room for another sleepless night.

* * *

The hours blurred together in scenes of movement and waiting. Oliver and Mari were released from the hospital, loaded into a car, and driven through Starling City.

In any other situation, Mari would have watched the city speed by, but her attention was focused onto the woman across from her. Moira Queen studied her with contempt, the stiff posture and judgmental stare creating a palpable tension within the small space of the car. Mari assumed the wariness of Mrs. Queen was because she was an outsider, the wild woman from a time in her son's life over which she had no control. The mother's opinion was clear–Mari was not to be trusted.

As Mrs. Queen's gaze shifted from her to Oliver, who kept giving his mother a warning look, her expression brightened slightly. The scowl that had pursed her mouth changed to a board smile, the strain of her lips revealing it to be fake and painful.

"So Ms. King," Mrs. Queen began in a tone as artificial as her smile, "Where are you from?"

"I don't see how it's your business," Mari answered coldly, making it clear she refused to participate in this dance of empty grins and shallow conversation that hid anything true.

Despite Mari's blunt reply, the woman continued with her not so subtle interrogation. "Why haven't you contacted any family? Surely there are people who will be glad to know you are alright."

Feeling Mari tense at the mention of _family_, Oliver spoke up. "Mother, that's enough, there's no need for an interrogation," he chastised.

Mari looked to Oliver, meeting his concerned eyes and giving a reluctant nod in thanks. Her fingertips brushed his hand, the touch anchoring them in this new situation. After the brief contact, her eyes shifted towards the window, as if she could escape the awkwardness if she could not see it. The car had left the urban setting of the city and entered a rural area. Now as they turned onto a long drive lined with an immaculate lawn, Mari saw a large house rise from the hills. The estate was grand and befitting to the rich and upper class atmosphere that was associated with the Queens. With its large windows, stone features, and looming towers, the structure was reminiscent of the mighty castles that remained as great fortresses across Europe.

The car came to a stop and as soon as the door was opened, Mari stepped out behind Oliver. She watched him walk towards the car's trunk to retrieve the little belongings they had brought. Oliver came from around the side of the car carrying a wooden box, well-worn and crude looking, but sturdy. At his insistence and despite the protest of the chauffeur, Oliver toted the case while she wavered behind him.

Upon entering the house meant for a family named _Queen_, Mari was again unsurprised by the grandeur of the interior. The large entry was encased in dark wood staircase, elegant stairs climbed high towards the second floor. Light streamed through the grand windows, some streaks multicolored from the painted glass. Priceless artwork on the walls displayed the wealth of the family that while a table in the center of room displayed mementos of the man that stood beside her. Mari carefully studied the room, old habits causing her to look for any signs of weakness in the infrastructure for a means of escape, as a man with an English accent greeted them at the door.

"Oliver. It's damn good to see you," said the tall dark skinned man in front of them.

Oliver simply glanced at him in a brief study, his expression remaining still.

"It's Walter," the man said, caught off guard at Oliver's lack of reaction. He reached out a hand to shake as they were reacquainted. "Walter Steele."

Moira attempted to assuage the awkwardness of the reunion by clarifying, "You remember Walter, your father's friend from the company." Again, Oliver failed to respond as he simply stared past Walter. Moria looked to Walter, conveying a shared confusion and worry.

After the beat of silent unease, Walter turned his attention to the woman at Oliver's side. "You must be Marina King, as Moria said, I am Walter, a good friend of Oliver's father," he introduced, offering a warm hand and a kind smile as if she was a new acquaintance and not a random woman from a deserted island.

Mari eyed him apprehensively, gaging his motive, before deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt. She shook his hand firmly and replied, "Mari, please."

"It's a pleasure," he responded, his smile growing slightly. "I hope you feel welcome in our home."

During the exchange of pleasantries, Mari noticed a woman entering the foyer out of the corner of her eye. She was of middle age and wore a blue maid's uniform. Upon seeing her, Oliver immediately crossed the room to reach her. Mari followed behind him and continued to observe the newcomer.

The woman stared at Mari for a moment, studying her, almost as if she recognized her. After a second of hesitation and her own study, Mari understood why. Her brown hair, dark eyes, and kind face brought forth memories from her childhood. She couldn't help the slight break in her mask as wide eyes and a furrowed brow showed her realization and wonder.

Understanding all of Mari's small tells, the woman quickly nodded to her and gave her a small smile. She then turned to Oliver, who smiled and said warmly to her, "It's good to see you, Raisa."

Raisa smiled. She replied "Welcome home, Mr. Oliver," before reporting to Moira "Mr. Merlyn phoned. He wants to join you for dinner."

An uncomfortable smile once again spread her lips as Moira tried to make her son feel welcome. Only her attempts continued to fail, making herself feel more unease. Determined none the less, the older woman tried once more to evoke response from her son, "Wonderful! Oliver did you hear that?"

Oliver was not paying attention. His focus had turned to the staircase, as the sound of a door slamming and feet running echoed through the halls. Mari followed his gaze, still taking cues from him since she was trapped in an insecurity of her surroundings and all the people she had encountered. Down the stairs, a young girl at the cusp of adulthood, came running. A smile brightened her face as she ran straight to Oliver.

"Hey sis, "Oliver said as the girl rushed towards him.

"I knew it," Oliver's sister exclaimed, leaping into her brother's waiting arms, ""I knew you were alive!" When they embraced, she murmured, "I missed you so much."

Oliver smiled and held her tightly to him. "You were with me the whole time."

As the pair broke apart, Thea stepped around Oliver in order to see the foreign woman hiding behind him. She looked the woman in the eye and then studied her for a moment. After a second of scrutiny, she turned to her brother and said with a laugh, "Only you would be stranded on an island for five years and bring home a girl."

The brunette looked to Mari and introduced herself, "I'm Thea, and I'm assuming I have you to thank for the fact that my brother isn't dead."

Mari smiled at the girl, appreciating the humor. "Mari. And you're welcome, though, he didn't make it easy."

Thea and Oliver both laughed good-naturedly till he commented that he should show Mari to a guest room. As he led her up the steps and down the hall, Mari took in the rest of the mansion. The opulent style continued from the entry throughout the rest of the home, with their wealth exhibited with each priceless painting and shining ornament. As they continued through the hallway, Mari found herself drifting closer to Oliver, unable to stray too far from him. Having spent so long in solitude, she didn't understand the correct norms when in the company of strangers. In this new place, the man beside her, alone, was familiar to her. Although, it seemed that the man she knew was a outsider to this place as much as she was.

Oliver smiled at her as he opened one door of many in the hall to reveal sizable room with a large bed, a vanity table, and a dresser, all carved from dark wood. Mari assumed, this was where she would be staying, as she studied the room. It felt nearly surreal to be surrounded by the comforts of sturdy furniture and soft blankets when she had been surrounded by the basics forged from raw nature for years. She nodded her thanks and he left her in the doorway with directions to his room if she needed him.

* * *

She stared at the scars along her body, and tried to fight the memories of how each one came to be. The burn marks left by the fires of an unspoken tragedy. The knife blades seared into her skin, forever reminding her of the places she longed to forget. The ridges carved by the bullets that she had taken in the name of survival. Among the disfigurements, the most notable to her were the marks left created by her own choice. The quote that had branded her as nobody, for that was all she knew herself to be. The single allegiance she had written into both her DNA and her skin, the one over written by the brand of a traitor.

Mari continued to study the lines and curves that decorated her skin, slowly remembering every story that had placed them there. Before she fell into the deep somber circles of her mind that held the memories she would rather forget, she was interrupted by a sound at the door. Mari turned to see a face that was a remnant of a happier time in the opened doorway,. She looked into the eyes of Raisa, the Russian maid from earlier, and was suddenly reminded of a childhood far away from this unfamiliar city.

"I have brought you some clothes Ms. Thea sent for you," said the brown-eyed woman, maintaining the role she now played. Despite the reminder that she was now a maid to a wealthy family, Mari could only see her as she once was–a caretaker to a lonely girl.

"Still picking out my clothes for me I see," Mari replied, trying to make light of the heavy moment shared between the girl and the woman who helped raise her.

"Well, some things will never change, though we have, _moya zvyozdochka_," replied Raisa, using the nickname she had for her from childhood. _Little star._

There was an expressive pause between the two women as Mari took the clothes from Raisa, struggling with how to respond. Seeing the woman whose presence had been a constant in her childhood shook Mari to her core, reminding her of days long past, the time before the death of her mother, before the fall of her family. Seeing the difficulty she was having with a response, Rasia's hands braced her, a soft strength against her Mari's back. She helped walk her towards the bed and sit her down. Then Raisa took the younger woman in her arms, cradling her like she had when Mari was a young child.

"You have grown much, my Marina, so beautiful, much like your mother," said the older woman, her words a quiet murmur against the blonde hair at the crown of her head.

Mari sat in stunned silence and look to her former caregiver in awe. When feelings buried from years ago starting to resurface, she fought the sudden rush of unpleasant memories and looked at the older woman with an unguarded expression. Raisa watched her, saw the fear in her eyes at the mention of her mother, and decided to spare her any grief.

"Dinner will be ready soon, I must go." Raisa reported, leaving Mari to her own space. Though, she only parted from her after pressing a light kiss to her forehead.

Now alone, Mari was left without any idea to do with herself besides roam down the steps to the dining room. As she climbed down the stairs, she found Oliver standing in the foyer at the center table covered in framed pictures. He held one in his hands, intently examining the image. She slowed her decent and from her perch above, began an old habit – observing Oliver.

The quiet of their separate inspections was interrupted by sound of a door opening and the following comment, "What did I tell you? Yachts suck."

Mari watched as Oliver turned to face the young man entering the room. The newcomer was tall with brown hair and was dressed in a light colored jacket. The natural confidence in his strut belonged to someone of privilege and youth, reminding her much of Oliver when he'd first arrived. The similarities of their characters and the familiarity they displayed now lead Mari to the conclusion that the new guest was a friend from Oliver's past.

"Tommy Merlyn," said Oliver, smiling as he embraced the other man.

As Oliver confirmed her conclusion, she recognized the name as Oliver's childhood best friend. The one he had referred to as a brother.

Oliver looked towards the door with expectance, waiting a moment for someone else to enter. When no one appeared, the hopeful light in his eyes darkened. "Where's Carter," he asked Tommy. The mention of this name caused Mari to recall a worn picture Oliver had carried with him and the numerous stories Oliver had shared of the smiling girl featured in the image.

"Oh," Tommy responded, his tone shifting into something more serious. "She's holed up with her husband."

"_Husband_?" Oliver replied, his body going rigid and his face displaying panic.

At the comical expression, Tommy's sober countenance fell with his laugh. Clapping Oliver on the shoulder, he chuckled, "Relax man, she's married to her work." Oliver did not share his friend's humor. "

Tired of playing the lurker, Mari begun to make her way down the rest of the steps and placed herself beside Oliver. Upon her entrance, Tommy's focus had shifted from Oliver to her, his eyes taking in her appearance with appreciation. "So Ollie, now I know how you managed to survive on an island for five years," he teased with a wink towards her. "You obviously had this beautiful woman to keep your sorry ass alive. Must have been quite the task."

"Well someone had to keep his 'sorry ass' out of trouble," she replied bluntly.

He grinned at her, reaching out a hand. "Tommy Merlyn, and you are? "the young billionaire asked.

"Mari," she said, keeping her tone neutral but also light, not wanting to flirt with the man she knew by reputation to be a playboy. Nonetheless she found him to be amusing, especially his teasing banter with Oliver.

Before a wounded Oliver could cut in to defend his pride, a maid came to inform the group of three that dinner was served. The trio made their way into the dining room where the table was already set with a delicious feast and plentiful drinks. Mari took a seat beside Oliver, still unwilling to leave his side for longer than necessary. They were soon joined by Oliver's family and the British man from earlier, Walter.

As the meal progressed, Mari couldn't help but notice how awkward the setting was. A man sitting at a table with his family for a "normal" meal for the first time in five years with the woman he spent the last few years with having meals that were anything but normal. She shifted uneasily as the silence around the table was growing to be thick and uncomfortable, as if no one knew exactly what to say for fear of saying the wrong thing.

"Ok." Tommy started, attempting to break the strangling silence. "What else did you miss? Super bowl winners Giants, Steelers, Saints, Packers, Giants again." Oliver gave Tommy a small smile, appreciating his effort at nonchalance. "A black president, that's new. Oh, and 'Lost,' they were all dead I think." He paused, his expression twisting in exaggerated confusion. "Mari, how much modern culture are you behind on?"

At his question, Mari suddenly was the topic of interest. Underneath the gaze of everyone else, she shifted uncomfortably as she searched for an answer that was anything but the truth or a lie. "I think that about covered what I missed out on."

"What was it like there, for both of you," Thea asked, innocent and curious.

Mari and Oliver exchanged wary glances. How did one describe the hell of the island? She could only think of the countless nights spent alone for years waiting on a rescue, on a stranger, on death. Oliver thought of the pain and hunger he felt in those first days, the loss and regret he felt as days dragged into months into years. They each answered in turn, hands brushing under the table in mutual support.

"Cold," he replied.

"Forsaken," she answered.

The table remained in heavy silence for a moment, no one daring to speak and allowing the unsettling atmosphere from the beginning of the meal resumed its place between the people in the room. In another attempt to break the silence growing between the dinner guests, Tommy suggested plans with Oliver to explore the city in order for Oliver to 'catch up' and for Mari to be introduced to Starling. Instead of discussing ideas with Tommy, Oliver expressed his desire to see the family company to his mother.

Mari was too distracted to pay much attention to the conversation before her. Even as she encouraged her son to enjoy the city, Moria kept her gaze intently fixed onto Mari. In the corner of her eye, Mari noticed Raisa making her way towards the table with a bowl of fruit. Raisa met Mari's gaze and gave her a reassuring smile, but the distraction caused her to ran into Oliver's chair.

Oliver reacted quickly, catching the bowl as it slipped from her hands. "I am so sorry Mr. Oliver," Raisa said earnestly in her heavily accented voice.

"_Ni dlya kogo ne volnuites_," Oliver replied in Russian, as quickly as if he was speaking a native tongue.

Mari sucked in a breath while the rest of the table held their own. In a low voice she turned to Oliver and muttered in a low voice of the same language, "_Ty Idiot_."

Before the moment got awkward again, Tommy spoke up for a third time that night, his mouth tilting with a grin."Dude, you speak Russian?"

"I didn't realize you took Russian at college, Oliver," added Walter, his tone slightly confused.

Mari quickly replied to save Oliver from more questions. "He didn't, I taught him." To prove her point, she said a swift phrase in the other language, knowing that only Oliver and Rasia would be able to translate the insulting phrase directed at him.

Oliver, completely ignoring the pass she provided, looked straight at Walter and said to him, "I didn't realize you wanted to sleep with my mother, Walter."

The table was once again filled with the overwhelming silence that continued to suffocate everyone with its unspoken questions and forced normalcy. Moira and Walter exchanged looks with one another, before turning to the rest of the table.

When Moira glanced at Thea, the girl stated bluntly, "I didn't say anything,"

"She didn't have too," Oliver declared his voice low with disappointment at not being told. They had attempted to keep the relationship between Moira and Walter a secret, but their body language had betrayed them.

Throughout the night even Mari had noticed the way the two interacted. How Moira sat slightly closer to Walter than anyone else. The lingering touches the two shared when they believed Oliver wasn't watching. All these little tells implied that the two were close romantically, _intimately_. The familiar way they moved around each other was found only in two people who knew every aspect of the other.

Mari watched the way mother studied son and vice versa. She could feel the silent conversation between the two reach a cold agreement that it was not the time for lies. At the way Moira regarded her son, as if he were some kind of threat instead of her own flesh and blood, Mari couldn't help but to grow suspicious of the older woman.

With a nod, Moira took the hand of the man next to her. "Walter and I are married," she explained. "And I don't want you to think that either one of us did anything to disrespect your father."

In an effort to soften the blow of the information Walter added, "We both believed that Robert, like you, was….uh…well, gone."

"It's fine," Oliver replied shortly. "May I be excused."

Oliver was clearly only asking as a formality as he rose from his seat. Mari watched as he moved around the table to leave, grabbing an apple from Rasia's bowl. As he passed, Tommy grabbed his arm and reminded him of their plans for tomorrow, adding a request for Oliver bring Mari along and a promise to see Carter, the woman they had talked about earlier.

Without asking, Mari followed Oliver out of the room, not wanting to be left alone with the still unfamiliar group of people

* * *

Lightning flashed and thunder boomed outside the walls of the house. As the storm raged, Mari tossed and turned in tangled sheets, unable to find peace in the loud chorus of raindrops on the window. The room seemed too encased, too safe, for her to believe it was real. She had spent so many nights alone, on the ground, the earth her bed and the trees her shelter. Now this room seemed like a dream she wished to never wake from. Sleep evaded her due to the fear that if she awoke, this place would disappear.

In the dark light of the storm, Mari found her nightmares coming to life. The grey light of the moon and the shadows cast by the clouds painted the tainted parts of her soul that remained held prisoner by the place she had fled.

_She was safe. She was no longer fighting to survive everyday of her life. She was not alone._ These thoughts filled her mind as she reminded herself that the island was gone, she was here, but just as the sky cast shapes of darkness and streaks of grey into her room, as the storm outside raged on, the island still cast its long looming shadows into her depths. She doubted it would ever leave.

As her mind began to race and her own fears consumed her wakefulness, Mari sought escape. She stood and paced her room, dwelling on the events that had led her here, and feeling the hollow of loneliness from the island as if she had never left it. She desperately sought company in these long hours of the night while everyone slept, but she remained watchful. Soon she found her feet moving her to the door of the one person she knew could understand.

She knocked on his door, and waited for it to open. Oliver answered her knock with a gesture for her to come in. The man looked at her with the same broken expression she was sure filled her own eyes. The storm raged louder with his open window, and the two just stood for a moment and watched the other. Neither seemed sure of what to say, because they both knew the truth as to why she was there and why he let her in.

"Can't sleep," Oliver asked quietly, his voice seeming quieter in the heavy silence between them, especially with the company of the howling wind outside.

"Can you," she replied sarcastically. Like either of them could sleep after the shared hell they had.

"Nightmares?"

"Always the same ones. Damn ghosts refuse to leave me alone. As if I'm not haunted enough."

Oliver nodded, and met her eyes. He studied Mari with a familiar expression of both empathy and concern before he moved away. He collected a pillow and blanket from the bed and prepared himself a pallet beneath the window. Mari nodded in gratitude as she climbed into his bed, settling into the covers and wrapping herself in their warm before bidding him good night. Both drifted off into dreams, with a hope to find rest in each other's company.

Minutes or maybe hours later, Mari was awoken by the sound of Oliver restless movements on the floor. He yelled out the name of a woman long forgotten, and seemed beyond reaching. He was trapped in his own nightmare, unable to be awakened. Mari moved from the bed to his side, ready to be there for when he emerged from the captures of his own ghost.

Before she had a chance, Moira entered her son's room with Walter close behind her. Mari moved to the side, but only far enough to give the other two room. Moira reached to touch Oliver's arm in an attempt to wake his from his storm outside grew stronger, bellowing and crashing, making matters worse for the man trapped in a sleep induced hell.

"I wouldn't touch him," Mari warned the worried mother, knowing what might happen if Moira tried to shake her son awake.

Looking at her, Moira shook her head, as if to dismiss Mari's advice completely. As she ignored the warning, Moira called her son's name, and touched Oliver's arm to wake the tormented man. Oliver woke abruptly, and panicked. The rip from unconsciousness and the sudden human contact cause his instincts and reflexes to act before his mind had fully processed his environment. Moira's wrist was take into his hand, and the older woman was flipped on to ground, her son holding his other hand to her neck in a defensive position.

Another call of his name in the now strangled tone of his mother brought Oliver back to reality and caused him to release his captive. Mari looked to Moira as if to say _I told you so_. Oliver backed away from his family in horror at what he had done. As Walter held Moria, she continued to try and comfort her son, repeating that he was no longer on the island that he was home.

Tired of his mother's rambling, Mari looked at the couple, and informed them they needed to go. With resistance they did, leaving her and Oliver alone, while Oliver continued to panic and search the room in alarm for imaginary enemies in the shadows. Mari placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. He met her gaze with fear and shame, a look she knew well, and she simply nodded in understanding. They continued to stare at each other, needing company, not words, for comfort.

The two battered souls found comfort in the fact they were safely away from the place that would now haunt them. They were home, and safe, but not well. Both broken beings knew that while they had left the island, their shared suffering had marked them. Their bodies bore the scars of the mistakes they had made and of the battles won and lost. Their minds held the things they regret and the things they wished to deny. While they had left the island, they both in that moment understood, the island had not yet begun to leave them.


End file.
